


your warmth

by megz



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Established Relationship, Other, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-02 13:03:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19199395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megz/pseuds/megz
Summary: When his connection with heaven is lost for eternity, Aziraphale is deprived of the holy warmth. Somedays, he handles it perfectly fine.On others, he has to remember there's someone he can lean on.





	your warmth

There was no doubt in Aziraphale’s mind that the simpler the solution, the better. For thousands of years, a tiny miracle here and there sufficed to keep him comfortable, with a few nasty exceptions that shall not be mentioned. Dramatic entrances or sophisticated masterplans were not quite his thing, he’d rather leave the troublesome theatrics to more unruly - _and brilliant_ \- beings.

He truly loathed overcomplicating simple matters, at least in his personal, absolutely subjective, opinion. But he also, utterly and undoubtedly, loved pleasure in all forms- and as far as the pleasure goes, the trouble often follows.

And the trouble, in all means, didn’t hesitate to follow this time.

It all started with the gloom of autumn morning- as much as Aziraphale adored the nostalgia interlaced with misty weather, the piercing-cold air made him shudder unpleasantly. He wrapped himself even tighter with a dressing-gown, but even the fuzzy material didn’t bring him any comfort. Despite his best efforts to sink back into the armchair and unwind, the tenseness refused to leave his body.

Three cups of tea and a few layers of blankets later, the tension in his muscles sunk deeper into the core and turned into a puddle of anxiety, filling his stomach with a sick feeling. With a veil of clouds cutting off the sunlight, heaven seemed even further away from him, unwilling to lend him some of its holy warmth. He did the only reasonable thing in the face of helplessness and defeat - curled up in the corner of a couch and dialed the number on his phone.

‘Hello? Angel?’

‘Crowley! I’m terribly sorry to interrupt whatever you’re doing, but I’m having a bit of emergency over here-’

‘Move away from the phone. ‘

‘Hold on, it’s nothing _that_ urgent- ‘

‘I said _move away from the phone, Angel_!’

Series of blaring cracks followed the growl and Aziraphale instinctively dodged away from the device. Pressed deeply into the cushions, he gaped at the previously dropped earphone as if it was possessed. At that moment it, very much, was - a sharp silhouette started to emerge from it, surrounded by electric discharges.

Crowley soon was standing in his full glory on the Persian rug, his posture defensive and cautious. He was sharply taking in the surroundings until his gaze stumbled upon a pile of blankets with a head. Exceptionally lovely head.

‘Hello, dear,’ sighed the angel in slight embarrassment. ‘You needn’t have fatigued yourself, as you may notice.’

‘Was your emergency simply craving my presence?’

Demon’s voice was filled with amusement- whatever he expected to see after arriving, it did not include a giant blanket-burrito stuffed with an ethereal being in distress.

‘You should’ve just said you miss me.’

‘That is not the case at all!’ huffed Aziraphel, but his expression softened visibly. ‘I’m not feeling my best recently, that’s all. Figured out I might as well ask you for, well, assistance.’

‘Not feeling your best?’

There were no traces of amusement to be found in Crowley’ words this time. With a frown painted all over his features, he skipped the distance between them and leaned over his friend. Angel fidgeted nervously, his gaze fleeing away from yellow eyes.

‘Nothing to be a serious concern. I just can’t seem to get comfortable, is all. I feel…’

‘…cold?’

Aziraphale nodded and finally faced him. ‘Frozen to the bone, to be precise.’

Crowley hummed in response and dropped onto the couch right by his side. They stayed like this for a while, heavy silence and unspoken musings hanging in the air between them.

‘And have you tried to miracle it away?’ were the first words to cut through. Angel glared at him, clearly agitated.

‘Of course I did, who do you think I am!’ he chided, but then his tone lowered. ‘I tried _everything,_ Crowley _._ Why else would I bother you, anyway…’

‘You didn’t seem to have an issue with _bothering me_ for the past few centuries, Angel. Besides, I’m cunning and my mere presence is a true _blessing-’_

_‘Blessing!_ That’s right!’

Aziraphale jumped in his seat, making some blankets roll off his shoulders. Crowley unconsciously reached out and readjusted them. ‘I’m lacking a simple _blessing,_ obviously! It is that simple! You’re brilliant, my dear!’

‘Am I now? ‘Cause I was just about to suggest whiskey,’ he mumbled. His remark was, mercifully, ignored, since his friend was too occupied with the _absolutely perfect, simplest solution._ He hated to extinguish the sparks flaring his eyes, but nothing about the idea seemed quite _perfect_ or _simple_ in his skeptic mind.

_‘_ I doubt any of your angelic friends would be overjoyed to share their precious blessings with you. Won’t it be a pity if they accidentally set you on fire, those jolly fellows?’

‘Well, I can’t just _bless myself,_ can I?’

Now that his brief delight had worn off, the vicious shivers came back and Aziraphale was doing his best not to tremble visibly. If Crowley noticed - and after millenniums by his side, it would be silly of him not to - he didn’t let it show. Well, maybe aside from how his arm appeared to move a bit closer to the curled up Angel, almost embracing him from behind.

‘I know you can’t, just wanted to point out how tricky getting a decent blessing would be. If you disguise yourself, it won’t be sincere, and an insincere blessing turns into-’

‘A curse, I know. That’s why I never meant to ask _them_ for one.’

Crowley gaped at him, lost for words.

‘Angel, you can’t possibly mean… no, you _don’t_ mean that! That’s insane! There’s no chance-’

‘How can you be so sure if you’ve never tried? You did keep your wings! In fact, pretty angelic and fluffy ones, from what I remember-’

_‘Shut it!’_ hissed outraged Demon, so outraged that his entire face seemed to burn. Out of pure rage, naturally. ‘And stop joking around, I would rather sip on holy water than endanger you like that with my own, _damned_ , hands!’

‘And how is letting me freeze out of existence any better, _mister unforgivable?_ Just give it a try, for heaven’s sake! You’re the only angel on my side!’

If Crowley felt lost for words before, now his lips simply refused to work properly. Not being able to form a coherent sentence, he just stared.

‘Is that a yes?’, pleaded a tight voice right by his side.

His only answer was a tiny nod. Dim sunlight sneaking through the blinds was the only witness to what happened next.

 

Crowley was the first one to reach out and take a hold of his Angel’s hand.

With their fingers entwined, the contrast was miserably flashy- Aziraphale’s skin seemed to be made out of velvet, everything finely groomed and glowing; Crowley’s palms were rough to the touch, crowned by the cracked black polish on his nails. Still, when conjoined, nothing felt as natural and perfectly fitting together as their hands.

Aziraphale followed into his lead and slowly interlaced their remaining fingers together.

‘Are you ready, my dear?’ he murmured, voice thick with tension. Crowley’s badly concealed anxiety had prevailed him too, but now it was too late for a withdrawal.

‘Of course I am, why wouldn’t I be! Just another _serene day,_ doing _ordinary occult stuff_! It is not as if _anything_ could go wrong _,_ is it now!’

His scoffing would’ve, with a high likeability, go on for the next hour or so, if not for the violent shiver that made the Angel grip both of his hands in anguish. That made him speechless straightaway, and his words were lacking any venom when he spoke up again.

‘Alright, we’re doing it then,’ he let out a heavy sigh. ‘Ready when you are, angel.’

‘Well, I am ready as I’ll ever be. Oh, and Crowley?’

‘Yes, angel?’

Aziraphale’s gaze beamed with such a warmth that the demon felt the ground vanish from under his feet; it was just like falling all over again, the azure skies spreading in front of his eyes for eternity.

‘I trust in you.’

He just gulped nervously and nodded, his mind racing feverishly.

They both closed their eyes simultaneously. No further words were needed, besides the ones he was meant to denounce.

One more shaky breath in. A reassuring squeeze of Aziraphale’s palm, soft skin way too cold against his own.

‘I, ang-… _fallen_ angel Crowley, give you my hand and my heart as a sanctuary of warmth.’

When he paused, there was no movement in the air, as if the entire universe ceased to exist.

‘May the peace and serenity of heavens be with you, angel Aziraphale.’

A rush of tranquility washed over them, chests filled with sudden lightness, tense muscles utterly relaxing. The ice inside Aziraphale’s body melted away, leaving him full of love and love solely.

They didn’t let go of each other's hands for as long as it lasted.

Well, maybe even for a bit longer- but that, only the dim sunlight could confirm.

 

There had not been plenty of situations where Aziraphale agreed with Crowley’s _questionable_ , in his humble opinion, music choices. But truth be told, it also wasn't every day that he made his lover perform celestial magic- so he didn’t even bat an eye when the gentle rock filled the living room as they sprawled across the cushions together. After the nearly-Armageddon, all it had taken was a tiny miracle to adjust the couch so it could fit both of them comfortably. It was remarkably good for productive tasks such as reading, talking nonsense for hours, bickering and, most importantly- cuddles.

Aziraphale was running his hand through Crowley’s hair- caressing his head and playing with silky strands still made his heart flutter, even after thousands of years.

Crowley had his forehead rested against Aziraphale’s soft tummy, both arms wrapped in a tight hug around his waist- something he only recently had the privilege to try out, and he had yet to grow accustomed to.

But they weren’t in any kind of rush. They had forever, after all.

‘Angel, may I ask you something?’ mumbled Crowley suddenly, raising his head a little to meet Aziraphale’s eyes. There was not a trace of a surprise to be found in them, just a questioning look.

‘You always can. That’s how conversation works, my dearest.’

‘It might be out of place right now. I don’t want to, you know. Spoil the atmosphere.’

‘You already did with that rock and roll of yours, so it is too late now.’

Demon huffed in exasperation, but clearly, there was something else bugging his mind enough to drop the topic of _how dreadful holy taste in music is.’_ His voice was much lower and seemed almost frail when he finally spoke.

‘Do you ever miss heaven? On days like this, when you get colder and it feels even more, well, out of reach?’

Aziraphale only closed his eyes, a pleased smile illuminating his features.

‘Why would I miss it? I can feel it every single time I am with you.’

His hand returned to its rightful spot on Crowley’s head and their peaceful breaths, blending with the music, were the only sounds that followed.

**Author's Note:**

> for my dearest angel, heaven is a place on earth with you uwu


End file.
